


The Trouble With Faking It - Outtakes

by nowforruin



Series: The Trouble with Faking It [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Outtakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4400222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowforruin/pseuds/nowforruin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of outtakes / missing scenes from The Trouble with Faking It</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Grocery List

She doesn’t know why she’s surprised when he mentions it. He obviously has food in the house, and it has to come from somewhere – never mind the suddenly stocked baking supplies which appeared seemingly overnight.

 

It’s been three weeks. She has yet to witness an assistant running his errands. Killian is oddly particular about doing things for himself.

 

But still, she stares at him blankly and asks dumbly, “You want to go grocery shopping?” Of all the things he might have suggested for their afternoon after a morning on the beach – Regina’s requirement – the grocery store is about the last thing she would think of.

 

His lips curl into a smirk that’s already become familiar, bright blue eyes dancing as he leans on the counter. “Aye. I enjoy a good meal, but it does require one stock the refrigerator. It does not magically fill itself, no matter how many times I wish it.”

 

“Is this another Regina assignment?” she asks suddenly, a flush creeping into her cheeks. She’s been assuming his request is because he wanted to spend time with her – a dangerous thing to allow, but they’re becoming friends. And friends spend time with each other.

 

But if this is all just because of Regina, and it’s one more thing they need to fake, she should know.

 

A scowl flickers across his face before the smile returns, but this one doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Swan, not everything I say to you is a script Regina provided. I merely thought perhaps you’d like to stay for dinner. Dinner requires a trip to the store. If you rather…”

 

“No,” she cuts in, smiling sheepishly and toying with a strand of her hair to avoid his gaze – he’s seen through her since day one. “We can go. That’s nice of...dinner is good.”

 

It’s not like she has anything better to do tonight – and it’s not like her empty fridge is going to suddenly yield up anything more appetizing than cheap beer.

 

There’s also a part of her – a part she _ignores_ – that likes that Killian goes to the grocery store himself.

 

“All right. We’ll make a list and go.”

 

“A list?” Killian’s eyes find hers again, except this time she’s the one to wear a smirk. “You make a list?”

 

“Aye. You don’t?”

 

Emma shrugs, her eyes once again on the counter. “Not really a list person. More like I just run in and grab what I need.”

 

_What I can afford._

 

Killian only shakes his head at her, like her lack of grocery shopping organizational skills is a tragedy. He pulls a pad of paper out of a drawer and starts writing while she watches, but her quiet laughter makes him look up again.

 

“They have apps for grocery lists you know,” she teases, pointing at his phone on the kitchen counter. “Less messy.”

 

“Messy, Swan?” He glances back down at the paper and pen. “How does one make a mess with a grocery list?”

 

“If you make a paper list, you have to bring a pen with you to the store to cross stuff off. And then there’s ink all over your hands. And you have to hold the list and the pen and throw stuff in the cart. And...this doesn’t happen to you, does it?”

 

He shakes his head, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. “No, Swan, I have yet to be defeated by a pen. I prefer my list, even if it is a touch old-fashioned.”

 

She nods, falling into a comfortable silence as he works, until she’s too curious to help herself. Emma moves to stand next to him, firmly ignoring the heat of his body as she peeks over his arm at the growing list. His handwriting is surprisingly neat, but that’s not what makes her laugh suddenly. “You can’t just write milk on the list? You have to specify two-percent?”

 

“It doesn’t hurt to be precise,” he replies, a hint of a huff in the words, but he grins as he pulls the list further away from her, nudging her with his hip in the opposite direction. “I think not, Swan. You’ve mocked. Your list privileges are revoked.” His eyes dance with delight, clearly enjoying teasing her.

 

“You are definitely not what I imagined you would be,” she says with a roll of her eyes, not-so-subtly trying to get another look at his list.

 

His voice is surprisingly soft, all sign of joking gone, though he doesn’t stop writing _honeycrisp apples_ or turn to look at her. “What did you expect, love?”

 

_An arrogant, drunken movie star with no sense._

 

_A man too full of himself to use his own dishwasher or make grocery lists._

 

_Someone easy to hold at arm’s length._

 

“Emma?” He’s stopped writing now, curious eyes watching her.

 

“I....” Her eyes flicker away from his, darting back toward the list. She’s about to tell him she didn’t expect him to be so genuine, that she didn’t expect him to care about things like home cooked meals, but that’s too much like a confession she’s not ready to make. So instead, she grins, pointing at the paper on the counter. “I didn’t except any self-respecting man to write Lucky Charms on his grocery list.”

 

There’s a second’s hesitation before he laughs, a moment where his eyes bore into hers and she can see that he _knows_ she’s just deflecting, but then it’s gone, his deep laughter filling the kitchen. “Aye, Swan. What can I say? The luck of the Irish and all that.”

 

“Uh huh. Can you put some grown up cereal on there for me?” The question slips out without her intending to ask for anything, her cheeks flushing. “I mean, I can just grab it while we’re there. You don’t have to put my stuff on your list…”

 

But he’s already writing again, his precise letters spelling out _boring cornflakes_ right under his ridiculous cereal.

 

She tells herself it’s just a stupid grocery list, but there’s something about the way he fits her into his routine that makes her feel a whole hell of a lot more than she ever wanted to about cornflakes.

 

The warmth Killian’s smirk brings on when he grabs the box and throws it in the cart is a whole other matter – one best left unexamined.

 

But she still smiles every time she sees _boring cornflakes_ written out in his flowing script right below his Lucky Charms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd since atonceuponsomechaos is on vacation and focused on the main chapters of TWFI. 
> 
> These outtakes started as a follower milestone on Tumblr. No idea how many of them there will be, but this is where you'll find them!


	2. The MIddle

Emma stares into the bathroom mirror, a set of troubled green eyes filled with accusation glaring back. She sighs, glancing at the closed door and picking up a brush to run through her damp hair once more. She’s already showered, taken her time applying lotion, and towel-dried her hair. It doesn’t matter if she’s not in the mood to face Killian and the intimacy of a shared bed, pillow wall or not – she’s about out of options.

 

_What the hell got into you tonight? Was it the wine? It had to have been the wine. Two glasses was a bad idea. No more of that._

 

Regina made them reservations tonight at one of the dozen restaurants in this city sure to attract the attention of a photographer or ten. The food was overpriced and not that good, something Emma has come to expect on these little outings. Everything was perfectly normal.

 

Except her.

 

She didn’t have to put on a dress that makes her feel sexy and desirable.

 

She didn’t have to rub her thumb over his palm as they walked in, didn’t have to stand quite so close as the hostess gathered menus.

 

She didn’t have to offer him up a bite of her dessert from her fork, holding his burning stare all the while.

 

She didn’t have to kiss his cheek as he helped her out of her chair, well out of view of the photographers milling about outside.

 

She shouldn’t have done any of it – she’s not even sure why she did – but now she has to face up to it.

 

“Get it together, Swan,” she mutters, giving herself one more hard look in the mirror. Her cheeks glow with heat from the shower – or maybe it’s from the memory of his palm on his waist, the warmth of his skin through the thin material of her dress.

 

It’s getting harder and harder to not notice his closeness, the scent of his skin or the sweep of his fingers – to not _want_. Ever since that night after they visited Mary Margaret and David in the hospital, that night she so stupidly gave into the comfort of his arms and his bed and _him_ , it’s been different.

 

Hiding out in the bathroom isn’t going to change that.

 

With a sigh, Emma opens the door and flips off the light. Killian is already in bed, pillows stacked beside him in a great wall of white. He’s propped up against the headboard, and he grins when he sees her.

 

“I’ve always wondered what it is women find so appealing about this book,” he says in greeting, gesturing with the paperback that _was_ on her nightstand. “Tell me, Swan, just what is it about this Darcy that is so bloody special?”

 

Emma smiles in spite of herself, rolling her eyes and moving around to her side of the bed. “It’s a classic. Girl meets guy. Guy is a jerk. They hate each other until they realize hate has never had anything to do with it.” She’s never been much of a romantic – life has proven the fruitlessness of that – but she’s loved the book since she picked it up and devoured it at the age of twelve.

 

When she was still young enough to believe in happily ever after.

 

But just because she doesn’t believe in it doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to curl up with a few hundred pages of fantasy on occasion.

 

Killian’s eyebrow is raised skeptically when she glances at him while she pulls the sheets back on her side of the bed. “The first line of it is ridiculous. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ Hardly. A single man in possession of a good fortune is in want of a talented investment advisor.”

 

Emma laughs, knowing she shouldn’t encourage him, but unable to hold back her smile at his indignation. “That was published in the early 1800s. Things have changed.” She lets her head fall back into the pillows, her still-damp hair making her shiver. She stares up at him, the blue of his eyes still bright despite the dim light afforded by the lamp on his nightstand. “It gets better.”

 

He regards her suspiciously, flipping to a random page and beginning to read aloud, “"’In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ This is the great romantic hero, Swan? Sounds like a bloody idiot.” Something more is creeping into his voice, something that hints at a conversation that has nothing to do with the book. There’s an undercurrent to the words, his tongue wrapping around them like a caress.

 

Emma refuses to look at him, refuses to see what swims in the depths of his gaze with words like that so freshly off his lips. She ignores the surge of emotion hearing those words brought on, emotion that has no place in this bed or her heart. “He makes up for it later,” she says as though they’re still talking about the book, hoping her voice is as level to him as it is in her head.

 

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but she can feel his eyes on her. She can just imagine the questions in those eyes, the things he wants to ask but won’t.

 

But when she can’t stand it any longer and looks up again, his expression shifts from tenderness to mischief as he glances down again at the book in his hand. “I see he makes a rather unfavorable impression on the lady. ‘Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement...’”

 

Killian continues to read aloud, randomly interjecting comments regarding his opinion on the events of the novel. She should take the book away, should tell him to off the light and go to sleep. It’s nearly one in the morning and he has a phone interview in the morning with a magazine. But there’s something about the lilt of his voice, the old-fashioned verse and his accent thickening as he grows more tired, that has her leaning her cheek on the wall of pillows. She watches him read with a cozy, warm feeling, laughing quietly at the extravagant facial expressions which accompany his rendition of Darcy’s first proposal.

 

She almost asks him to keep reading when he reaches the end of the chapter. But his thoughts are elsewhere, his expression once again serious as he closes the book and sets it down on the nightstand. “It really was quite a rude way to propose. She marries him in the end after all that?”

 

“She does.” Emma’s eyes follow his movement, watching as he stretches again for the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “They work it out.”

 

“In spite of the terrible things he said to her?”

 

He says it so quietly she’s not entirely sure she’s meant to hear. Emma swallows thickly, rolling onto her back and retreating to the security of her side of the pillow wall. “They both make mistakes along the way,” she says quietly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything else.

 

“And yet it ends well?”

 

“Yes,” she whispers into the dark bedroom, telling herself his voice isn’t heavy with hope, that he isn’t asking a very different question. This conversation is not about them – they’re not a couple in love no matter what they have the rest of the world believing.

 

There will be no romantic, grand gestures – there will be no happily ever after.

 

“Then I suppose it has its appeal.” He sighs, the rustle of sheets accompanying his settling against the pillows. “Good night, love.”

 

“Good night,” she echoes, burying her face in the pillow with Darcy’s words curling around her stubborn heart. 

 

_I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a Tumblr request for Killian reading to Emma in bed while the pillow wall was still in effect. Hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> I’ve got a bunch of requests still to work through, so there will definitely be more of these. And yes, chapter 21 is coming. I’m hoping for tomorrow. We’ll see if that schedule works out.


	3. Trick or Treat

Emma huffs out a rush of air, glaring at the ceiling before admitting defeat. “Killian?” she calls, trying not to let her frustration and disappointment get the better of her. “I need help.”

 

“Help with…” His voice trails off as he walks into the closet, his eyes raking over her. She flushes under his open admiration, clutching the troublesome garment to her chest.

 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she says lamely, one arm holding the fabric in place over her chest.

 

“You look bloody marvelous just the way you are.” His lips curve into a scandalous leer, his hip cocked out to lean against the door frame. He doesn’t look so bad himself, leather pants clinging to his legs and a snug waistcoat of bright red brocade showing off his trim waist. Most of the buttons of his shirt are left undone, and given how little the man wears a shirt it shouldn’t have this effect on her – but it does.

 

“I’d look better if the damn corset were actually laced.” She’s been hiding it from him for the last two weeks, ever since he asked with wide, pleading eyes if she would like to dress up to hand out candy on Halloween.

 

Too bad she hadn’t considered how she would get the damn thing on by herself.

 

“Would that garment be the reason you summoned me?” He hasn’t moved from his spot by the door, his eyes still roaming over her bare shoulders and loosely curled hair, the drape of the long skirt’s thin material clinging to her thighs.

 

“Yes,” she admits begrudgingly, turning her back to him to display the undone laces. If she doesn’t get him focussed on the task, they won’t make it out of the bedroom tonight, and they’re not quite _there_ yet. “I thought i could get it myself, but…”

 

Killian’s hands are warm as he gently takes the laces from her fingers, cursing under his breath until he gets them threaded. “I do believe Halloween may be my new favorite holiday.” His voice is low, a rumble in her ear as he gently tugs.

 

“You’re going to need to pull tighter or this thing is going to fall down.” Emma glances at him over her shoulder, lifting one eyebrow in a teasing challenge.

 

“Not exactly motivating.”

 

“Very funny. We’re handing out candy to _kids_. Tighter.”

 

He chuckles when she gasps, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Merely following your wishes, darling.”

 

“You just startled me.” Emma rolls her eyes, holding her hair out of the way as he works his way up her back, threading and tugging the laces into place. She tries not to shiver when his knuckles brush against her skin – and fails. His answering chuckle sends a rush of heat through her veins, the familiar pull that’s getting more and more difficult to ignore curling low in her belly.

 

When he finishes, he places a soft kiss against the nape of her neck before stepping back. She turns slowly, the burn of his hungry gaze setting her skin on fire. “Will I do?”

 

“Aye. You look ravishing.” He runs his finger over the black brocade. The corset fits his pirate theme, skulls woven into the material, and she’s never worn anything like it. But his eyes aren’t on the fine detail – he’s staring at the smooth expanse of skin rising about the fabric, eyes dark with desire.

 

“So was this your master plan all along? What if I decided to be a ghost?” she teases, looping her arms around his neck and leaning back with a smirk. 

 

To her surprise, he shrugs in response, his thumb moving over her waist. “We didn’t have Halloween when I was a lad, and a damn shame it was. This is the first year I’ve had someone to enjoy it with.”

 

“I didn’t get to dress up much.” Emma takes a deep breath, shoving down the rise of unwanted memories. “But I’ve still always liked Halloween. You can be anyone you want to be for a night.”

 

“Aye. There is a certain appeal to that.”

 

“But you already pretend to be someone else for a living,” she teases, her nails dragging lightly through his hair. The mood is growing heavier than she would like; she wants happy, mischievous Killian back.

 

It works.

 

“Aye. But you don’t,” he replies with a wide grin, his eyes dropping down to her cleavage again before darting back to her face. He’s gone all out for his costume, a smudge of her blackest eyeliner around his eyes making the blue pop against his skin. “It’s Halloween. Kids love pirates.”

 

“Uh huh. Not so sure kids’ parents love corsets quite as much,” she says wryly, slightly self–conscious. Some of the dresses she’s worn to events have shown more skin, but there’s something about the black corset and tumble of untamed curls that feels sexier, more dangerous than a plunging neckline on a red carpet.

 

Especially when Killian swings on a long leather coat, completing his roguish look with a devilish smirk.

 

“It’s Hollywood, love. A drive down Sunset would reveal quite a bit more.” His lips curve into a smirk, fingers dancing down her back until he’s able to give her bottom a squeeze. “ _I_ enjoy the corset.”

 

“I bet.” She raises an eyebrow at him, but her lips twitch into a smile right before they meet his, a hungry kiss that has him pressing her back into the doorframe, a low hum of appreciation in his throat.

 

He breaks away first, rubbing his thumb against his lips – they’re thoroughly stained with bright red lipstick. She giggles at the sight, shaking her head and attempting to clean him up. “Haven’t you learned your lesson with this stuff yet?”

 

He shrugs, obediently standing still as she rubs at his mouth. “And give up kissing you whenever I fancy it? I think not.”

 

“Maybe at least until we’re done handing out candy?”

 

“Aye, I suppose I can manage that.” He grins, eyes sparkling as she slips into the bathroom to fix her makeup.

 

“I’m sure it won’t be long. Do you even get many kids up here?” Emma calls out as she leans closer to the mirror, carefully wiping away the smudged lipstick before reapplying.

 

“Just the neighbors. We share a desire for privacy. One night a  year we give the kids to have a fun evening. Even the paparazzi stay away.” There’s an undercurrent in the last sentence, a hint of irritation for the plague of photographers that seem to follow them everywhere these days.

 

“Well, let’s have a fun evening then.” Emma loops her arms around his neck as she emerges from the bathroom, smiling softly. “I’m looking forward to Scotland, but I know it’s going to be crazy with the filming schedule. I’m glad we have tonight together without anywhere we have to be.”

 

“Aye. I’m rather thankful I will have you to come home to, love. Even if home will be a hotel for a bit.” His fingers slide into her hair, and he pulls her close to place a kiss against her brow.

 

Emma sighs, leaning into him and enjoying his closeness and the quietness of the moment. She still has her secrets, and this thing between them, it terrifies her sometimes, but on nights like tonight, she’s grateful to her impulsive outing for an overpriced mocha so many months ago, grateful she finally decided to take a chance on him.

 

Killian kisses her hair once more before stepping back, giddiness returning to his expression. “Shall we, darling?” He offers his arm with another cheeky grin, and even though she rolls her eyes at him, she grins right back.

 

The front steps are lined with pumpkins, elaborately carved this morning by the two of them, though Emma left the majority of the carving to Killian after she hollowed the pumpkins out and baked the seeds. The entryway is bathed in candlelight, lanterns and jars liberally placed on tables and along the wall. Killian said it would look spooky with the high ceilings and long shadows – but as the light catches on his skin, she’s reminded more of romantic nights in front of the fire than ghosts and ghouls.

 

She’s leaning over the candy bowl to make sure Killian hasn’t already eaten all of the peanut butter cups when he tugs on her arm, spinning her back toward him with a soft smile. She raises an eyebrow in question, but he simply slides one hand to her waist and takes her hand with the other, lacing their fingers together.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

“There’s no music, and someone could show up any…”

 

“We’re right next to the door.” He nods toward it, guiding her free hand to his shoulder before pulling her slightly closer. “You look lovely in the candlelight, Swan. Humor me.”

 

His voice is soft, and when she looks into his eyes, she can see how badly he wants this. They’ve never danced together before – never had a reason to – and Emma can’t remember the last time she danced like this.

 

All it takes is a slight nod from her and they begin to sway, Killian leading her around the entryway is a graceful arc of swishing skirts and creaking leather.

 

He’s right – the lack of music doesn’t stop them. If anything, it makes her heart that much tighter in her chest, makes her want to stretch up on her toes and whisper into his ear how much she loves him, to confess her feelings in this quiet moment and watch his expression change in the candlelight.

 

The doorbell startles her, lost in the feel of his warm chest under her cheek and the sweep of their bodies together. Killian blinks at her for a moment, clearly a bit lost himself. But then the moment passes, and he offers her a saucy wink as he heads for the door.

 

He flings the door open with a gleeful _arrrrrrr_ for the group of kids on his doorstep. Emma smiles at the two parents herding the group around tonight – one is their next door neighbor, the other a studio executive she’s met at industry events – but her attention snaps back to Killian before she’s even managed a hello.

 

He’s bent down to talk to the kids, fully in character as a swashbuckling pirate. The group is watching with rapt attention, not a single one of the kids interested in Emma and the giant bowl of candy currently balanced on her hip.

 

Her thoughts drift as Killian launches into a story, embellishing and letting his accent grow thick as he continues. They gobble it up, but she’s not sure who enjoys it more – the kids or Killian. She’s seen him happy plenty of times, and she’s seen a lot of it since she kissed him that afternoon in the pool, but this is something different, something that tugs at her heart and makes her hand fall to her flat stomach without realizing it.

 

It’s not the first time she’s thought of Killian as a father, the idea fleeting and chased away the moment it dances into her thoughts. Yet this isn’t like the day in the hospital, where it was terrifying, wildly inappropriate even. This is a warm, cozy thought tucked away in a corner of her heart.

 

But the memory of another child, a child she gave up, stops her in her tracks. She has no business being a mother. It was true then and it’s true now. Besides, despite Killian’s words, despite his assurances he loves her and wants a life with her, they’ve never talked about the future beyond a trip to Scotland.

 

The rustle of candy wrappers startles her out of her heavy thoughts, Killian’s long fingers scooping up massive handfuls of candy for each of the kids. He’s still grinning as he closes the door, but his expression falls when their eyes meet.

 

“What’s the trouble, love?” he asks, tugging her close once she’s set the candy down.

 

She almost tells him then. Almost whispers she loves him and she’s been thinking of a future where on Halloween night they take their own kids trick or treating, but she can’t. So she forces a smile and slips into his arms, nuzzling her lips against his neck and breathing in the scent of his skin. “Nothing at all. Everything is perfect. Dance with me until the next group.”

 

He hesitates just long enough for her to realize he’s seen through her, but he lets it go. He winds his arms around her, their dance more of a slow, swaying shuffle around the room. It starts out quiet, Emma’s thoughts still weighing on her and Killian undoubtedly sensing her distance, but one hand trails over the laces of the corset before long.

 

“Since you required my assistance with the lacing, i suppose you’ll be in need of my services to remove this.” His breath is hot against her ear, one finger looped in the knotted laces as he tightens his arm around her waist.

 

Emma closes her eyes, a shiver running down her spine. She feels him tug at the knot, and her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding as she becomes aware of every inch of his body against hers. They’re barely moving anymore, Emma’s fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket as she leans back, the hunger in his eyes enough to devour her where she stands.

 

She should say something, flirt back, keep things light, but his eyes are dark in the shadows cast by the lanterns. She gives into it, desire flooding her veins, and stretches onto her toes to press her lips to his, her grip on his jacket providing leverage.

 

His low groan echoes off the tile and high ceiling, an encouragement she doesn’t need. His hand leaves her waist, tugging up the long, heavy skirt to slide along her thigh, lifting her leg against his hip as the kiss deepens.

 

The chime of the doorbell startles them, lost in the kiss and each other. Killian doesn’t move right away, his eyes locked on hers and filled with lust. He bends slightly, as though he’s of a mind to ignore the door and just keep kissing her, but then his lips curve into a playful smirk, the hand on her thigh reaching to give her bottom a quick squeeze before he darts toward the door.

 

Emma listens to his voice from inside the house, her heart pounding, her fingers lingering on her lips. He’s probably covered in her lipstick again, and she wonders what sort of picture he paints for the parents, but he’s off on another grand adventure with the group of giggling kids. She lets her eyes close, the rise and fall of his voice captivating as he recounts a harrowing storm and a narrow escape.

 

They get maybe one or two more groups of kids, the parents all familiar faces. Killian has a new story for each group of kids, the tales growing more and more elaborate as the night goes on.

 

But after each group is sent on their way with a handful of chocolates, he pulls her back into his arms, swaying in the candlelight. She can feel his hunger simmering just under the surface, but his kisses are soft, far more tender than heated.

 

“I do believe that’s the last of them,” he announces cheerfully just before nine, flipping off the outside lights and throwing the lock on the door. He leans back against it, eyes once again roving over her. “Shall we make ourselves more comfortable?”

 

The corset is anything but comfortable, yet Emma still hesitates as they turn for the bedroom, the heat in Killian’s eyes each time he’s looked at her tonight a temptation to keep it on.

 

He shrugs out of the heavy leather coat as they enter, tossing it onto the bed with a grin. “I truly love Halloween.” His finger trails over her bare shoulders, catching in a lock of her hair and rubbing over the silky curls.

 

“I like the leather pants,” she replies playfully, her hands sinking down from his hips to run along his thighs and butt, muscles tensing under her touch. “You should keep them.”

 

“Aye?” He quirks an eyebrow at her, laughing quietly. “Well, if the lady insists.”

 

“She does.”

 

He smirks again, and she expects a kiss, but he turns her in his arms instead, brushing her hair off her shoulders and trailing kisses over the exposed skin. He undoes the laces of the corset slowly, painfully so, his lips moving over her skin the entire time.

 

She’s simmering with desire by the time the last lace is undone, and she can hear the unevenness of Killian’s breathing, but he gives her a gentle push toward the closet with one last kiss on her shoulder. “Go change, love. I thought perhaps we could find something appropriately ghoulish to watch.”

 

Emma hesitates, debates letting the corset drop to the floor instead of holding it in place, but a flash of awareness rises unbidden, a reminder that she’s not ready for what would happen if she followed her impulse.

 

She sighs, heading into the closet to change. When she emerges in one of his T–shirts and a soft pair of leggings, he’s stripped to the waist. She stands in the doorway, drinking him in until he notices her stare.

 

“Enjoying yourself, love?” He gathers up the discarded clothes he’s tossed on the bed, brushing a kiss against her cheek as he slips past her into the closet.

 

“Always.”

 

“If you’d like to pick a movie, I’ll join you presently.”

 

“All right.” She turns to go, but stops when she hears him call her name, a playful note in his voice.

 

“Pick something scary, darling. I promise to protect you.”

 

She starts to fire back a response that she doesn’t need protecting, that she can protect herself, thank you very little. But he’s happy tonight, so instead she waits for him to emerge from the closet, one hip leaned against the doorframe leading into the hallway. “I don’t need a scary movie to want you to hold me, Killian,” she says instead, her voice quiet but firm as he approaches, his favorite pajama pants low on his hips and chest bare.

 

He hasn’t washed off the eyeliner, and she swears his eyes are the bluest she’s ever seen them set against the dark smudges. “Aye,” he says softly when he reaches her, brushing a kiss against her forehead and looping his arm around her waist as they head for the living room tucked closely together. The single word is thick with emotion, and Emma leans her head against his shoulder as they move together through the dark house.

 

It’s the first real day off he’s had in weeks, and he’s asleep before the movie is half over, the long days finally catching up with him. Emma smiles, snuggling closer and brushing his hair away from his eyes, a smile playing at her lips. “Happy Halloween,” she whispers, her thumb grazing his cheek and her heart full, the movie all but forgotten.

 

Her thoughts drift to next year, to what sort of costume she can pull off to top this one, and she’s nearly settled on a plan when it occurs to her that this is the first time she’s thought about _next year_ and Killian in the same sentence – and she’s not afraid.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s definitely a little early for Halloween, but tnlph made this request and I love Halloween so damn much I couldn’t help myself. Vacation wifi was a bitch or this would have gone up much sooner! Unbeta’d, so any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I’m hoping to get the next chapter of TWFI itself up soon. Between my vacation and atonceuponsomechaos‘s we’re a little bit behind!


	4. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This outtake courtesy of @sarah8826 who requested a fun night out with our favorite couple during the first month time jump. Given that tomorrow’s episode is going to be angsty as hell, I thought tonight might be a good time for something a bit lighter. Not beta’d so any mistakes are 100% mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

She hasn’t seen him in a week, and she doesn’t expect to miss him.

 

She does.

 

Emma sighs, leaning back on her lumpy futon and glaring out the window, the roar of the freeway blasting through her windows. She doesn’t want to miss anything about Killian Jones. Not his smirks or his seductive glances, not the warmth of him beside her or the easy calm in the dead of night when he finds her in the kitchen.

 

Things are changing between them, and she isn’t sure she likes it.

 

She isn’t sure she doesn’t.

 

It’s not awkward anymore when his hand rests on the small of her back. She doesn’t have to think about it quite so much when she leans against him.

 

A week is the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since this whole crazy thing began a month ago. But without an assignment from Regina, Emma hasn’t had a reason to visit Killian’s. Sure, they’ve talked a little bit through text messages, but of all the things that have changed, making the drive across town and into the hills without a reason isn’t something she’s comfortable with.

 

Still, it’s strange to not work, to have her days empty before her. So when her phone rings, she snatches it up, not bothering to check who’s on the other end.

 

“Morning, darling. Miss me?” The rumble of his voice is too familiar in her ear, smooth and seductive.

 

“Not at all,” she lies, allowing herself a tiny smile since he can’t see it. “Why are you calling?”

 

“I can’t call simply because I choose to?”

 

Emma huffs into the phone, rolling her eyes. He sounds far too innocent to be sincere, and sure enough, his low chuckle comes over the line.

 

“Fine, Swan. You’ve caught me. Regina seems to have remembered how very much she enjoys directing this show we’re putting on. She’s made us dinner reservations at one of the paparazzi traps on Robertson for eight o’clock. I trust you’re free?”

 

That makes her scowl. “Of course I’m free. What time should I be at your house?”

 

“It’s nearly noon. If you’d like to come over now I could make us lunch and allow you the use of my lovely pool.”

 

She wants to say no. She wants to tell him she’s just fine here on her creaking futon with her book, that she doesn’t need his fancy pool or stupidly comfortable lounge chairs. She can have last night’s Chinese food for lunch.

 

“Sure. I’ll put together a bag and head over,” she finds herself saying instead. Who is she kidding? An afternoon in the sun is way more appealing than an afternoon in her tiny apartment.

 

“See you then.”

 

She doesn’t let herself think too hard on her actions as she stuffs some clothes in a bag and changes into her bathing suit. She hesitates only a fraction of a second before pulling on Killian’s still-not-returned Dublin T-shirt with her cutoffs.

 

The paparazzi follow her around sometimes. It’s good for business for them to get a shot of her in his shirt.

 

She doesn’t expect to find them waiting outside her building.

 

 _I am going to kill Regina._  

 

Emma ducks her head, grateful for the sunglasses she slid on just before coming outside. She ignores the shouting, elbowing her way through the pack and into the car. Her fingers itch to text Killian, but there’s nothing he can do about this and it comes with the job. Gritting her teeth, she starts the car and hopes the idiots are smart enough to get out of her way.

 

It’s a relief when Killian’s gate closes behind the Bug.

 

She gives herself a minute to sit behind the steering wheel, breathing deeply and trying to shove down the lingering anxiety of walking out her door to a swarm of shouting men. Emma can hold her own and has been in plenty of dangerous situations, but there’s something about the fact that if she wasn’t dating Killian these men would be considered _stalkers_ that doesn’t sit well.

 

Not that he needs to know.

 

Emma lets herself into the house, the key still a little awkward in her hand. By the time she reaches the back patio, her shoulders are relaxed and her step easy – the perfect picture of relaxation. Killian doesn’t need to know anything other than she’s here and ready to put on their show. 

 

“Everything all right, love?” Killian asks in greeting, squinting up at her from his spot on a lounge chair.

 

Apparently not.

 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Emma flashes a smile, turning away from him to put down her bag. She doesn’t like how easily he reads her, how he sees through her effortlessly.

 

He’s frowning when she turns back to him, but she ignores his look and gestures toward the pool. “Lunch or pool first?”

 

“Whichever you like,” he replies after a beat, looking for all the world like he wants to say more. “I purchased some of those chicken burgers you like.” He scratches behind his ear as his says it, his gaze shifting to the pool. “They won’t take but a few minutes to cook on the grill.”

 

The grumble of Emma’s stomach makes the decision for them, and whatever else he wanted to say, he swallows it. Assembling lunch occupies them both, Killian at the grill and Emma inside throwing together a salad to go with the burgers. By the time they sit down to eat, Killian seems more like his normal self.

 

But she can’t forget it’s the first time he’s invited her over without a real reason. Regina’s dinner assignment isn’t for hours, and there’s no need for her to spend the afternoon. Since their reservation is so late, she knows she’s expected to stay the night, so they’ll be together plenty this evening and in the morning.

 

So why is she here?

 

She isn’t about to ask.

 

After a week in her apartment with its thin windows and loud freeway below, the quiet of Killian’s home wraps around her like a soothing blanket. Emma swims laps once her lunch settles, cutting through the water smoothly and falling into the rhythm of it. Her arms are heavy by the time she flops down in a chair beside Killian, impulsively flicking a few drops of water at him.

 

He jumps in surprise, but when he turns to her, he’s wearing a devious smirk. “Poor form, Swan.”

 

“You looked hot.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Not like that!” Emma rolls her eyes, settling more comfortably in her chair.

 

“You could just admit you find me devilishly handsome.”

 

“It’s your job to be attractive and you know it. Stop fishing for compliments.”

 

“I’m an actor, love. My ego is fragile and must be protected.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

He chuckles, relaxing back into his chair. “Your cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink when you’re irritated.”

 

Emma doesn’t bother to answer, and she expects the silence that falls to be awkward, but it’s not. She falls asleep within minutes, the warm sun and light breeze just the right combination with the exertion of her swim.

 

She jolts awake with Killian’s hand on her shoulder, his shadow blocking the sun. “Sorry to wake you,” he says softly, something in his tone she can’t put her finger on. “You didn’t put on sunscreen and I didn’t want you to get a sunburn.”

 

“Oh. Thanks,” she mumbles, still half-asleep. She yawns, reaching for her phone as Killian backs off to check the time with a groan. “I have to start getting ready soon.”

 

“We don’t have to leave for hours.”

 

“You really think Regina would let me go out tonight without the glam squad making sure I look exactly how she wants me to?” Emma shakes her phone at him, Regina’s text message still on the screen. The stylist is set to arrive in thirty minutes and Emma needs a shower after sweating in the sun by the pool.

 

“Were it up to me, you would remain just as you are.”

 

“Oh yeah, because they would definitely let us in like this.” Emma glances down at her bikini, the same old black suit she wore over the first time. It doesn’t cover much.

 

“Assuredly not at any of the places Regina wants us to go. But again, were it up to me…” He doesn’t finish his thought, his eyes drifting to the city below.

 

“Where would we go for dinner, if it were up to you?” Emma can’t stop herself from asking, curiosity getting the better of her. There’s something about his tone, the shift in his mood that carries a faint hint of bitterness that makes her want to know.

 

“The beach. One of the despicably greasy shacks that sells all manner of fried seafood and cheap beer and no one gives a damn what clothes you’ve got on.” Something flashes in his eyes as he looks up at her, but it’s gone before she can blink. “Off you go then, love,” he says with a wave of his hand toward the house.

 

Emma lingers in the doorway, but he doesn’t turn back to her and she _really_ needs to shower.

 

By the time she’s fully made up and outfitted in a short dress and sky-high heels, Killian’s odd mood has disappeared. He smirks his usual smirk as she emerges from the bathroom, his eyes running over her appreciatively as the makeup artist wishes Emma a good night.

 

She isn’t sure it’s entirely for show.

 

“Shall we?” He offers his arm, and she wants to ignore it, but she still isn’t completely used to walking in these shoes Regina insists on, and his steadiness is welcome. He’s showered as well, the scent of his cologne almost as tantalizing as the fit of his dark jeans.

 

“Relax, Emma,” he murmurs as he helps her out of the car, the flash of paparazzi light bulbs startling her after their earlier encounter at her apartment. She forces a smile onto her lips as they make the short walk to the entrance, grateful for Killian’s arm around her waist in a way she isn’t entirely sure she should be.

 

_It’s an act. Even if he’s being protective, it comes with the boyfriend role._

 

The flashes continue once they’re seated, but they’re easier to ignore on the other side of thick glass. Emma breathes a bit easier once the waiter walks away with their drink order, some bottle of wine Killian picked. She grabs her menu with a small sigh and takes a glance.

 

“These prices are absurd,” she mumbles, not looking up.

 

“Aye,” Killian agrees, reaching across the table and lacing their fingers together. Emma struggles not to react, but his eyes are dancing when she meets his stare. “The food at the diner down the road a bit is also better, but one isn’t paying for the meal at this establishment.” His grin broadens as he jerks his head toward the glass and the paparazzi hoard beyond. “Smile, love.”

 

Emma adopts what she hopes is a serene expression and not the grimace the situation truly deserves. The constant flashes outside the glass are distracting, and a quick glance around reveals they’re not the only ones on display tonight. It’s surreal for a moment, being here with Killian, surrounded by faces she’s used to seeing on magazines, but this is her life now. With a tired sigh, she sips at her water and smiles again at Killian, hoping this one looks more genuine than it feels. “Just how often does Regina make you come down here?”

 

His grin doesn’t falter, but his eyes darken a fraction. “Before you came along, darling, Regina preferred I avoid establishments of this nature at all costs to keep me _out_ of the magazines.”

 

“Do you miss it?”

 

“I don’t follow your question, Swan.”

 

Emma cuts her eyes toward the window and back again, raising an eyebrow. “Not having to come to places like this.”

 

The waiter returns with the wine before he can answer, and Emma orders the first thing she glances down at that she can pronounce. Killian twirls the stem of the wine glass until the waiter leaves again, leaning back in his chair and studying her. “It’s a tricky business. We’ve all a part to play, though not all the lines are scripted. If saving my career means place like this, then so be it.”

 

_Places like this. People like me._

 

Emma banishes the thought before a scowl can take over her expression, hiding behind her own wineglass. There’s an awkward silence between them, but then Killian asks about her week and they manage to find enough things to talk about that the rest of the meal passes uneventfully enough.

 

“Are you tired, Swan?” Killian asks the question quietly, his lips bent to her ear as they exit the restaurant. She glances up at him in surprise, but his expression is open, no hint of mockery present. He seems to genuinely be asking.

 

“Not really,” she answers back, flashing a smile at the cameras and snuggling closer to Killian’s side as the light bulbs threaten to blind her.

 

“Perhaps we could salvage what remains of our evening, if you’re so inclined?”

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

Killian grins, the mischief she’s been expecting finding its way into his eyes. “An evening we might actually enjoy. First, we lose this lot,” he murmurs as he helps her into the car, completely ignoring the paparazzi's demanding questions.

 

“Isn’t the point of tonight to _not_ lose them?” Emma asks as the valet closes his door for him, Killian’s fingers already wrapping around the smooth leather of the steering wheel.

 

“We’ve completed our assignment. A little bit of fun might do you some good, love.” He raises an eyebrow at her, challenge and innuendo and mirth in his gaze. She should say no – she should demand he return them to the privacy of the hills, but she finds herself nodding instead.

 

A number of sharp turns later, Killian is triumphant as he takes a final look in the rearview mirror. “We’ve lost them,” he announces, taking his eyes off the road long enough to grin at Emma. She can’t help but smile at his delighted expression.

 

“So what now?”

 

“A greasy shack by the beach,” he says, his voice unexpectedly soft. He reaches behind her seat into the back, holding out a baseball hat and one of his hoodies. His eyes flicker to her before returning to the road, bright blue and relaxed like she rarely sees. “They expect us to be out on the town after that dinner and you in that dress.” His smirk returns with a glance at her exposed legs, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip. “They won’t look for us at the sea.”

 

Something tugs in Emma’s chest, a tightening she can’t – won’t – place, but she takes the sweatshirt and pulls it on over her dress. It smells like him, and she bites her lip to keep from pressing her nose to the fabric with him right beside her, focusing instead on twisting her hair into a simple braid to fit under the cap.

 

Killian stops well off the beaten path, the twinkling lights of the Santa Monica pier barely visible in the distance. It will be a long drive back to his house, but he seems more relaxed than ever as he strips off his button-up shirt and tugs on another hoodie and hat himself. Emma is thankful for the dark parking lot – the moment of Killian in only the snug undershirt caught her attention more than she wants to admit. Ducking down to throw her shoes back into the car, she wills her cheeks to cool, and is somewhat surprised to find Killian barefoot beside her as she closes her door.

 

“What would Regina say?” she teases, gesturing toward his bare feet as they begin to wander toward the sand.

 

Killian offers her only a withering stare, but a smile tugs at his lips as he gestures toward the lights of what could only be described as a beach-side shack. “Do you want ice cream or not, Swan?”

 

Emma’s stomach rumbles in response, the pitiful portion of her meal at the ridiculous restaurant doing little to satisfy her hunger now that her nerves have calmed. “Think they’ve got grilled cheese?”

 

“Grilled cheese ice cream? That’s positively disgusting, but if that’s what the lady prefers…” Killian’s grin only widens as Emma digs her elbow into his side, little force behind the movement. His arm slips around her waist without missing a beat, tugging her closer in one of those horribly simple, easy moves that have become familiar.

 

Only, there’s no audience here on the dark beach, their faces hidden in shadow and their clothing unremarkable. Anyone glancing at them would see nothing more than any other couple out for an evening stroll on the sand.

 

Killian doesn’t release his grip on her, and with the breeze rising off the ocean and her exposed legs, Emma tells herself she presses closer to steal the warmth his body provides.

 

There’s no other possible reason.

 

She tries not to let a flood of disappointment wash through her veins as the teenage girl takes their order with barely concealed glee, her shy request for an autograph from Killian assuring Emma that his arm around her waist is once again just part of the show, as it should be. Even out here, there’s still an audience.

 

A gust of wind makes her shiver, and Killian notices - of course he notices. He politely leans toward the girl as she snaps a photo of them together on her cell phone, blushing and stammering, but then he’s got Emma wrapped back up in his embrace. “Apologies,” he mumbles into her hair as they wait for their food - grilled cheese for her and french fries for him. So much for ice cream.

 

“For what?” Emma’s question is half lost in the thick cotton of his sweatshirt and the ocean breeze, but she feels his shrug in response.

 

“I didn’t intend...this…” He breathes out in a rush, frustration obvious. “This wasn’t meant to be a part of the assignment. I only meant…”

 

_Meant what?_

 

But she doesn’t ask, because she doesn't really want to know – doesn’t want to hear him say that this was meant to just be them, that his arm around her waist wasn’t for show but because _he wanted to_.

 

Just as the silence between them begins to feel heavy with unspoken words, their food is ready. Emma takes her grilled cheese gratefully, humming with pleasure at the piping hot gooey cheese. “This is so much better than whatever that chicken thing was,” she tells Killian as they walk out onto the sand, the tension forgotten.

 

“Good.” His smile is genuine, the lightness returning as he pops a french fry into his mouth and gestures down the sand. “Fancy a bit of a walk? We can go back to the car if it’s too cold.”

 

Emma glances at the dark ocean, the faint glow of the ferris wheel on the distant pier mingling with the moonlight to afford a romantic air to the beach. This is something a real couple should be doing together, having this quiet moment. If this were real, she might give into the itch of her fingers to grab his, to lace their hands together and lean her cheek to his shoulder.

 

But it’s not real.

 

“Sure, just let me throw this out,” Emma replies before she can stop herself, turning away from him to jog toward the trashcan at the edge of the sand. Shoving the last of the grilled cheese into her mouth, she balls up the greasy paper it was wrapped in and dumps it into the trash with a stern reminder he’s just being nice.

 

But when she shivers halfway down the beach and he tugs her close, she doesn’t pull away.

 

“I always wanted to live near the beach,” she admits after they’ve walked a bit in a companionable silence. “It’s part of why I moved out here.”

 

“I grew up near the sea,” he replies, nostalgia strong in the words. His chuckle is a row rumble carried on the breeze, his attention turning back to her. “But it was quite a different beach.”

 

The comment begs a question, and she almost asks - about his childhood, about how he grew up, but questions about his life will invite questions about hers. So instead of asking, her lips curve into a smile as she eyes the ocean behind him. “Was the water as cold as it is here?” she asks, overly innocent.

 

His eyes have enough time to widen before she gives him a shove toward the water. “Swan!” he shouts just before crashing into the shallow surf.

 

Emma can’t stop laughing.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she manages to gasp out, moving closer and offering him a hand up. “I only meant for it to get your feet. I didn’t think you would trip!”

 

“It’s hardly tripping when one is _pushed_ , darling,” he says as he takes her hand, but there’s something else in the words, something she doesn’t recognize until he grins up at her and tugs.

 

She yelps when she hits the water - it is _damned_ cold, and her legs are bare. She scrambles back up to her feet as Killian laughs, hauling himself out of the water behind her. “Once I could overlook, but that was the second time you assaulted me today with cold water, love. Fair is fair.” She huffs in response, the moment this afternoon by the pool nearly forgotten. “And for the record, the water I swam in as a lad was much, much colder.”

 

“We’re soaked and covered in sand and it’s a long drive back to your house.” She glares at him, but he’s lost his hat, his hair is sticking out and his sweatshirt is plastered to him along with his jeans. He looks ridiculous, and against her will, her laughter comes bubbling back until it seizes her in a fit of giggles.

 

“Aye, we are quite a bloody mess,” he agrees, laughing quietly as they start the walk back to the car. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

 

“I did,” she replies back without thought, startled to realize how much she means it.

 

It’s years later, and she wants a grilled cheese so badly she might actually kill Killian for his insistence this will be worth the drive – and Henry for going along with it. “I’m _pregnant_. You know that, right? This kid is just as stubborn as you, and she wants a grilled cheese, Killian. I don’t know why the hell you insist we drive all the way out…” Emma’s eyes whip over to her husband, something terribly familiar about the tiny beach and faded white shack, the lights of the pier glimmering in the distance.

 

“Henry, lad, how would you like to see where your mother and I had our first proper date?” Killian twists around as he parks the car, grinning without shame at his backseat conspirator before turning dancing eyes on Emma. “I hear they make an excellent grilled cheese.”

 

 

 

 


	5. The Pregnancy Cupcakes

She knows they’re up to something the moment she walks in the door. It hasn’t even shut completely when their conversation stops, Henry’s excited chatter and the low rumble of Killian’s laughter ceasing as suddenly as if someone hit their off switch.

 

She’s not sure which of them is the worse liar – her husband or her son. But Killian is the one who appears, the tips of his ears pink, his too innocent expression a dead giveaway if the nervous scratch behind his ear wasn’t. “ ‘ello, love. You look ravishing this afternoon.”

 

Emma glances down at her outfit – Killian’s T-shirt knotted at her hip with a pair of old cut offs she’d had for years – and frowns as she lifts her eyes back to his. “Did you guys break something?” she finally asks, struggling not to laugh at the flicker of panic that crosses his face. “Killian?”

 

The clatter of metal crashing out of the kitchen is quickly followed by Henry’s curse, which earns Killian another dirty look. _Emma_ didn’t teach him that one.

 

“Swan, I…” His protest is halfhearted at best as he follows her into the kitchen, and she can just picture the look on his face, halfway between sad puppy and _c’mon, Swan, you know you love me_. But she doesn’t see it, because she’s too busy gaping at her son.

 

Henry is covered in cake and frosting, what appears to be a dozen cupcakes in various states of destruction in his hair, on his clothes, and all over the kitchen counter and floor. “Hi, Mom,” he says cheerfully, offering a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “You’re home early.”

 

“Uh huh.” Now she’s _really_ struggling not to laugh, especially as she hears Killian fidget behind her. “What’s all this?” She pauses, her brows crinkling together as she surveys the counter. “And why the hell is the tequila out? Killian, please tell me that you weren’t giving our son _tequila_ of all bloody things!”

 

Killian’s arms loop around her, his palms settling over the swell of her stomach. He’s not playing fair, his nose nuzzling at the shell of her ear, but he’s also vibrating with laughter. That’s when her words catch up to her, and she’s done it _again_ , and it amuses him to no end when she uses his Britishisms but _why the hell is the tequila out_?

 

“Relax, darling. I’m not turning Henry into a delinquent just yet.” He brushes a kiss against her cheek, tugging lightly until she leans back into his chest, holding her comfortably. God, it’s good to have him home.

 

“We were making cupcakes,” Henry tacks on, gesturing to the not-destroyed dozen on the island. The frosting is messy, filled with crumbs, and droops into the wrappers on most of them, but they look so damn proud of themselves, and maybe it’s all pregnancy hormones but it’s just so _cute_.

 

But, tequila?

 

“You said you were craving a margarita,” Killian says with a laugh, kissing her hair. His beard is growing in, catching on the strands. Emma shivers in his arms, struggling to direct her attention back to the matter at hand.

 

“It’s generally frowned upon for a pregnant woman to have tequila.”

 

“We _know_.” Henry rolls his eyes, but his grin matches Killian’s when he gestures to the tequila bottle. “We made margarita cupcakes!” And he’s so proud, and so pleased, and Emma wonders if she’s going to have to choke down one of the cupcakes before the rest of them have a tragic accident.

 

“Did you...put the tequila...in them?”

 

“Of course, love. That is how you make a margarita, yes?”

 

“What recipe did you use?” she asks instead, eyeing the desserts. She’s made margarita cupcakes before, for barbeques and parties, and even once for a baby shower for one of the makeup artists that worked with them a lot, but she’s _never_ put tequila in them.

 

“It’s a lime one, with lime frosting. I added the tequila to give it a little extra authenticness,” Killian says proudly, and now she’s laughing, and she can’t contain it for another second as she doubles over and howls with laughter.

 

They both stare at her like she’s lost her mind.

 

“Have you...is there...did you _try_ them?” she finally manages to gasp out, clutching her side and leaning heavily on the island as she wipes her eyes.

 

Killian grins, nudging her with his hip. His arm sweeps out, one eyebrow arched as the second dozen cupcakes go sailing over the edge of the island to land with a clatter. “They’re bloody awful,” he says cheerfully, leaning down to kiss her. “But I love you.”

 

“Yeah, Mom, if you have any other cravings, we can try those! They put bacon on cupcakes, right? Maybe we could do a bacon grilled cheese cupcake?”

 

Emma’s laughter bubbles back up, and she leans closer to ruffle Henry’s hair despite his teenage scowl of protest. “Kid, if you swear to never mention a grilled cheese bacon cupcake to me again, and you clean up this mess, I’ll make the peanut butter fudge ones.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Killian tugs her closer, his laughter curling around her as snuggly as his arms. “Thank you,” she says softly, tilting her hand back to catch his eye.

 

“For making inedible cupcakes?”

 

“For always wanting to make me happy.” She grins, glancing over at Henry. “And for not turning our son into a delinquent yet.”

 

“ _Yet_ ,” he agrees, eying the bottle of tequila. “Plenty of time for that.”


	6. The 3a.m. Announcement

Their daughter is less than a week old when Kilian storms into the nursery, a scowl on his face and his phone clenched in his hand, knuckles white. But his expression softens the moment he lays eyes on her, cradling the baby in her arms. 

 

“She just fell asleep,” Emma murmurs, continuing her slow, steady rock in the chair Killian insisted on assembling for her himself. She’s not sure what she likes more about the thing – how comfortable it is, or the memories that resurface every time she sits down. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“Nothing to trouble you with, love.” He bends to kiss her forehead, lingering over the tiny person warm against Emma’s chest. She’s exhausted, and she’d forgotten just how much the whole birth part of being a mom sucks, but everything else – she missed all of this with Henry, and even if it does bring with it a twinge of sadness, she’s not going to miss a moment of her daughter’s life. 

 

Including 3 a.m. feedings. 

 

“Killian, what’s wrong?” She gives him the most stern look she can muster in the middle of the night with an infant asleep on her. 

 

“You weren’t in bed, so I came to keep you both company.” 

 

She smiles indulgently, glancing down. It’s too early to tell, but the faint wisps of hair seem to have taken after Killian’s darker locks, and she swears she sees his smile in their daughter. And it’s not that she doesn’t see herself in Henry, and it’s not that Henry isn’t Killian’s son in every way that counts, but she’s still sort of in awe that they’ve made this perfect little human together. 

 

But Killian is lying, and she’s not having it. 

 

“Not uh. You came in here looking mad as hell. And while I appreciate that our daughter mellows you out, I want to know what’s bothering you.” 

 

He stares at her for a long moment, a smile slowly creeping over his lips. When he bends to kiss her, it isn’t a light peck on her forehead, but something else, a lingering gentle kiss with a hint of all the passion still between them, kids or not. “I love you,” he says softly, rubbing at his eyes as he straightens, his phone once again tight in his fist. “Bloody Regina. I swear, Swan, that woman has no soul sometimes.” 

 

Emma raises a brow, waiting for him to explain. She might not have had the best start with Regina, but Killian’s manager has stood by him through a lot over the years. She’s grown on them, and Killian’s complaints are likely due to his lack of sleep more than an unreasonable demand, but she waits for him to tell her that. 

 

He grimaces at his phone, but his eyes are drawn back to her before long. “She wants us to choose which photographer and which magazine we give the exclusive for the photos.” 

 

“I thought you worked that out months ago. You know I’m okay with whatever you decide.” 

 

“I’ve put off giving her an answer. I don’t like it, Swan. I don’t want a whole bunch of bloody people in our home right now. And she’s a week old! The damn cameras give me a splitting headache some days, and I’ve been at this quite awhile!” He’s working himself up as he goes, his voice growing louder until he drops it to a whisper with a glance at their daughter, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s the done thing, and I know we can put the money to a good cause, but I hate it.” 

 

Emma smiles, an idea slowly taking shape. “Come here,” she beckons with her free hand, very carefully getting to her feet. “Sit down.” 

 

“What are you about, love?” 

 

“Sit down, Killian.” He cocks a brow at her, questions all over his face, but he does as he’s told. She settles into his lap slowly, until her back is snug against his chest, his arm steadying her as she leans her head onto his shoulder. 

 

“You are a wonderful husband, and you’re going to be an incredible father to our little girl,” she tells him, stretching to kiss his cheek. Maybe it’s all her hormones being completely out of whack, but there’s something about his unkempt state in the middle of the night that makes him all the more real, all the more the man she fell in love with, the man she married. “Now, take a selfie.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“You know. Phone, hold out your arm, picture. Throw it on Instagram. It’s what we did with the wedding photos.” 

 

“And Regina was furious.” 

 

“Not when your follower count jumped another million overnight.” 

 

“Are you certain?” he asks after a pause, his thumb rubbing gently across her cheekbone. “You’re stunning, Emma, and you have never been more beautiful to me than holding our daughter, but it’s three in the morning.” 

 

“Do I have spit up on me?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Okay. I’m good then.” She laughs softly at his puzzled expression. “She’s a week old, Killian. This is what that looks like. Three am. No makeup. Half-asleep. And if you’re lucky, the man you love by your side. So yes, I’m sure, if you are.” 

 

Killian takes the picture. The caption reads  _ who needs sleep when you’ve got these two to keep you awake _ . But no sooner does he post the photo than Emma slowly starts to nod off, distantly aware of Killian’s fingers in her hair, and the soft breaths of Rose Jones at her breast. 


End file.
